


That Promised Land

by geckoholic



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Established Relationship, Insecurity, Light Angst, M/M, New 52, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-09 02:12:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8871652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: The person Dick carries on his skin isn't Jason.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iamjasonssmirkingrevenge (mizzykitty)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizzykitty/gifts).



> What I read from your prompt, basically, was unmatched Soulmates AU and ensuing conflict, so I went with that rather than taking the prompt verbatim. I hope that's okay. :) 
> 
> The fic contains mentions of Tim/Steph, Harper/Cass, and past Dick/Kori and Jason/Kori. There's also references to Tim's recent canon "death".
> 
> Beta-read by thehazardsolove, and eternusmysterium helped me pin down an idea. Thank you both!! ♥ All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title is from "Singing Low" by The Fray.

Partying between boxes – half of them still unpacked from when he moved in here, returning from Chicago – is one of these things that might be weird for anyone else, but make perfect sense for Dick. A bird in constant flight, visiting places rather than settling in them; the only permanent home he ever had was the manor. Jason would admit, if pressed, that the same is true for him, and it might be weird, how someone who so valiantly refuses to put down roots to any one place became the steadiest home Jason can remember. That’s why he doesn’t mind the move; they’re not _technically_ living together, anyway, so he doesn’t officially get a say. But they will attempt to float up on the same shore, share the same bed whenever possible, and that’s easier when they’re in the same city. 

Blüdhaven is a few days away, though, for now they’re still in Gotham and the rest of the family has gathered to see them off. The mood is subdued, quiet, not just due to the occasion. There’s still a rift in their middle, a negative space where Tim used to be, and it’s all too familiar. Logic dictates that the kind of life they lead won’t be without sacrifices, of course. But that doesn’t help with the immediate loss.

Even more reason for Jason to stay carefully perched on the sidelines. He watches the small crowd, gathered around Dick like it should be, like they always are, and silently sips his beer. His gaze wanders around the room and gets caught by the other person that chose to keep to the fringe: Steph. The grief still shows clearly in her posture, like a lead weight tied to her shoulders, dragging her down. Jason follows her line of sight – Duke and the demon spawn are having an argument, and Dick’s standing by with mirthful glee, his gaze weaving from one to the other, splendidly entertained. Then his gaze falls to her hands, the way she’s rubbing her left wrist. He can’t see the small pattern of dots and lines there, but he knows that it matched Tim’s exactly. _Soulmates_. Both of them believed in the concept with all their hearts, and now here she is, not even twenty and still convinced that she lost the love of her live, the one person tailor-made for her. Not everyone shares that belief – some people consider it a fairy tale from another time, as outdated as _til death do us part_ – but one way or another, it will follow her around. _Did you find your soulmate yet? Whose marks do you carry? Ohh, he’s dead, you poor thing._ Anger wells up in Jason’s chest, not for the first time, at these dumb little marks that govern the lives of people who otherwise think themselves modern and sophisticated, intelligent and independent.

He’s torn from that train of thought when Dick abandons his attempt at playing referee on the discussion between Duke and Damian and saunters over to stand beside him.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he says, nudging Jason’s shoulder.

Jason rolls his eyes. “I was thinking it’s time these clowns get lost,” he replies, “so we can say our goodbyes to this apartment in private. I think there’s still a couple flat surfaces in here that I’ve always wanted to try.”

“One track mind,” Dick chides, but he's grinning while he does it and his eyes are lighting up and he looks around like he’s already putting together a list of his own.

But it’s getting dark outside and they’ll get going soon anyway; party or none, there’s still a city that needs patrolling, and her siren song will always be more enticing than small talk and cheap booze.

 

***

 

They spend their last night in Gotham much the same way they spent most of them; zip-lining across the city until roughly 4 AM, stumbling back home when the sky's already growing brighter, the first slivers of purple already filtering into the gray morning light. Those unexplored flat surfaces will forever stay that way, no new memories to be made before they head for the Haven. But that's okay, or maybe even better. At least the memories they'll make there will be all their own. Jason was born in Gotham, and Dick may as well have been for the claim the city's staked on him, but it doesn't belong to them. Not really. This apartment, Jason thinks, is the third or fourth Dick's had since he moved out of the manor, and Jason himself keeps at least a handful safe houses available at any given time. Gotham belongs to the Bat, and all they could ever do here is ride shotgun.

Sirens wails as they while they peel themselves out of their respective armor, providing an appropriate and familiar soundtrack for the end of their goodbye tour. Exhaustion surrounds them both like a fog, and it leaves them in a tangled heap above the covers, their limbs entangled, grasping at each other as they fall asleep.

 

***

 

In the morning – technically it's around noon, but who cares – Jason wakes to an already empty bed, but judging from the clatter in the bathroom Dick's lead on him is rather slim. He stretches and yawns, swings his legs out of bed, and watches Dick brush his teeth, clad in nothing but boxer briefs, humming to himself. That's one of his more endearing everyday habits; most others involve some degree of disarray. Clothes strewn about, dishes left where they were last used, that kind of thing. Jason's tried to rein him in a bit on that front, but it's a work in progress. And anyway, right about now, the whole place covered in boxes and half-disassembled furniture, it doesn't make a difference. 

Jason pads into the bathroom and mumbles a good morning, and, when Dick angles for a kiss, jerks his head away and gestures at his own tooth brush still left in the glass. Their reflection in the mirror catches Jason's eye. Dick's wrist, specifically, and the pattern there. It's clearly visible in the bright overhead light that floods the room, unique like a fingertip and unmistakable. 

The person Dick carries on his skin isn't Jason. It's Kori. Jason's own wrist is bare. Soul marks grow in during or after puberty, and Jason's been a late bloomer. When he died at the tender age of sixteen, there hadn't even been a flicker yet, and now... well, he fell off the map when he died, he supposes. Perhaps this is the closest he'll ever get to a soulmate of his own; having slept with the two people in his life who were actually fated to be together. They'd even dated for year or two. But that happened while Jason was six feet under. He doesn't know what they were like as a couple, or why they ceased to be one. If he'd asked Kori she'd probably told him it had already faded from her mind, and later, when Dick and him started dancing around each other, he made a point of avoiding the subject. 

There's not really a sexy way of asking, _hey that ex girlfriend of yours, your soulmate, who I also fucked for like a month, how exactly did that go off the rails?_. There's no dignified way either. And it's not like Jason stakes so much on his dignity anymore, much like he's mostly given up on his morals, but sometimes he likes to pretend. Or maybe it's self-preservation. What he doesn't know can't hurt him. 

He lowers his eyes, staring at his own face in the mirror instead, and holds his breath until Dick leans over, presses his lips to Jason's cheek instead, and pads out of the bathroom. 

 

*** 

 

The actual move is a quick affair, not much to be done before they leave for real. It doesn't take more than an hour to load Dick's few belongings into a rented van – Bruce had offered them a plane; Dick didn't even bother with a reply, merely huffed and glared daggers at him in response – and the things Jason's so attached to he doesn't want to leave them behind have always fit into a bag or two. The drive over to Blüdhaven takes less than an hour. When they arrive, parts of the makeshift family they'd only just said their goodbyes to the other night are already waiting for them, sleeves rolled up, waiting to help them unload. Jason would be touched, if he allowed for such a thing. 

They're each heaving one end of a coffee table that's solid wood and way heavier than such a small piece of furniture has any business of being, when Harper looks at him sidelong from the other end of it and squints. 

She studies him for a moment and he's about to point out that they're carrying shit here and maybe she should just take a picture, it'll last longer. But then she huffs out a breath and asks, “What's it like, you and Dick? It must be weird, I can't even imagine.”

Her tone his curious more than concerned, inquisitive, and entirely serious. She keeps staring at him, too, like she wants put him in a cage and poke him and note his reactions down on a sheet. It makes his skin crawl. Not in a bad way, necessarily; she isn't mean about it, but Harper can be... intense. Jason has yet to decide whether or not he likes that about her. 

“Yeah, he's a handful, but _man_ is he athletic,” Jason quips, accompanies that with a lewd grin in the hopes it'll gross her out, throw her off the topic. “So in the end I guess he's worth the hassle.” 

Harper rolls her eyes. “That's not what I mean, and you know it.” 

And yes, Jason knows. She's not the first person to ask, not by a longshot. Amazingly enough, most people skate right past the _adopted brothers_ thing that Jason considers bullshit in the first place – it's not like they shared a cradle – just to then chafe at the fact that they're not soulmates. 

He shifts the weight of the coffee table, nudging her edge of the damn thing into her stomach, making her yelp. To buy time, decide whether she'll get the angry rant or a distraction or an actual explanation. He watches her gaze sweep across the yard and settle on Cass. That's a relationship with its own tripwires, what with Cass killing Harper's mother and being mostly nonverbal. They're soulmates and and still, they're the opposite of easy, and he comes to the conclusion that Harper's one of the who people who deserve the real answer. 

“You have to work for every relationship,” he says while they re-position themselves at the foot of the stairs, him going backwards and her doing the pushing, and he's glad for the distraction, the excuse to avoid eye contact. “Love isn't just _given_. You have to make an effort, you gotta make it work. And that applies to your soulmate just as much as it applies to anyone else.” 

Harper looks up, pausing briefly, and for a moment he thinks she's going to act her age, call him out for saying the big loaded l-word, but then then her features smooth out and she's nodding. “Yeah. I guess you're right. It's just... unusual.”

“Look around you.” Jason huffs out a laugh. “We're surrounded by kids who pull on costumes every night and learned punching bad guys under the tutelage of an emotionally repressed millionaire dressed like a bat. Is there anything _usual_ about that?” 

She cocks her head at him, thoughtful, then oofs when she misses a step on the stairs, causing the table to push into her stomach harder than intended. Whatever reply she had gets lost in a coughing fit, having choked on her own spit from the looks of it. Jason explodes into laughter, earning himself another glare, and when they reach the top of the stairs she takes the time lower the table for a moment and flip him the bird. 

 

***

 

Dick wanders off to bed way earlier than Jason that night – which makes sense, Jason supposes, it's his move and he's the one who came here to project his issues onto a new cityscape. He does ask if Jason wants to join him, all wriggling eyebrows but tired eyes. 

“Nah,” Jason tells him with a wave of his hand. The nights when Dick will give in to his own body's signals and actually sleep instead of fucking or going out for patrol are rare, and Jason's not going to rob him of that. “You go ahead. I'll stay here and peek into some of those boxes, see if I can find anything embarrassing.” 

Sappy loser that he is, Dick stands and actually ruffles Jason's hair. “Okay. Have fun.” 

It comes out on a yawn, and yeah, definitely the right thing to do here. Jason ducks away and rolls his eyes, and watches him shuffle off towards the bedroom. 

The thing with the boxes was a joke, but after half an hour of brain-numbing nighttime TV Jason reconsiders. He turns the TV off and settles in between a cluster of boxes, getting to work. The first is boring as can be – tableware and cutlery – and the second is mostly underwear and ratty gym clothes. The third, however, contains old knick-knacks, photos and moments, and Jason unearths its contents with a heavy heart. There's a diploma, marking the completion of an education Dick's never going to make use off, and a whole host of photos with Bruce and Alfred, Tim and Damian, Barbara and Jason himself, and yes, also Kori. Those don't sting as much as he'd have expected. He knew about it. He loves them both. They're a thing of the past. 

At least, that is the case until he finds a small ring box in between all the other crap. It's black and velvety, adorned with silvery lettering from a brand Jason vaguely remembers to be both hip and expensive. He knows what's in it before he opens it, and yet the sight knocks the breath right out of him. 

The ring is simple, elegant, white gold with a small diamond inset so smoothly that it's almost level with the metal. Dick's style, for sure. 

And it's not like it's entirely surprising. Jason _knew_ they were together. He knows they're soulmates. He does. He just didn't know... _Dick was going to propose. Dick may have proposed. They could have gotten married._. He had no idea it was so serious. And maybe he could have avoided this particular punch to the chest if only he'd asked once or twice beforehand, if they'd ever talked about it. Maybe it'd have been easier to swallow if Dick had told him. But like this it's – it's a lot. Too much. 

Jason closes the ring box and throws it into the box, shoveling the other random crap back on top of it, and retreats to the couch, turning the TV back on. He finds some home-shopping channel and ups the volume – Dick won't mind, once he's out he sleeps like the dead – and lets the drivel drown out his thoughts until he, half-lying, half-sitting, drifts off to sleep in the early hours of the morning. 

 

*** 

 

He wakes to the sound of Dick fumbling around in last night's tableware-and-cutlery box. His back's aching something fierce, and it takes one glance at Dick, clad in black boxers and a worn Superman shirt, for his temper to flare with the memory of that goddamn ring. 

Completely oblivious, Dick turns around, spoon in one hand and a tin of instant cappuccino in the other, held up like some sort of trophy. “Look what I found. We can have caffeine.” 

Under normal circumstances, Jason's dutiful, practiced reply would be a reminder that instant-anything is _not_ proper caffeine, thank you very much, but right now he can't even open his mouth. If he does, something else will spill out, something mean and vicious and accusing, something that might drive Dick away forever. And part of Jason wants that; but another part of him is all too aware that the person he'd hurt most with that would be himself. 

And so he bites his tongue, marches into the hallway without another word to put on shoes and jacket, and bails. 

 

***

 

Unlike Dick's legit and officially rented apartment, Jason's accommodation in Blüdhaven is going to be a matter of convenience and wholly illegal. He hasn't scouted around for adequate abandoned buildings yet – for one, he tells himself, because that's not exactly the kind of thing you can pick from afar, with shiny pictures and the phone number of a realtor, but also because he may have not seen a pressing need. He had a place to stay. 

Has, dammit. He _has_ a place to stay. All he has to do is calm down, get used to the thought, and then everything will be fine. He's found a ring. So what? Nothing has actually changed. Dick and Kori are still a thing of the past, and Dick still loves _him_ , in the here and now. It took Jason a good long while to accept that as a fact, and some days it's still unreal and slipping from his grasp, but he knows that. He does. But that still doesn't manage to soothe the dire urge to scream, yell, tear something apart, that washes over him whenever his mind circles back to that stupid little black box and its contents. 

His phone vibrates in his pocket for the first time roundabout ten minutes after he ran. It goes off twice more within the next hour, and then stay silent. Dick's not the obsessive type, not about this; once he gets the message that Jason needs some space, needs to get away for a little while, he leaves well enough alone. Jason spends the day lurking around storefronts with their doors boarded up and long-forgotten industrial buildings. There are a few candidates, but he's not feeling any of them. 

Not like that comes as much of a surprise, nor does the sight of a familiar black-and-blue costume in his periphery shortly after nightfall. 

“I saw you,” Jason says, loud enough to carry through the alley. “Might as well quit stalking me and show yourself.” 

Dick turns, and Jason's pretty sure he'd see him squinting, irritated, if it weren't for that stupid domino mask obscuring his eyes. But he shoots out a zipline – because just walking over is too basic, apparently – and lands in front of Jason, with a slight bend to catch his own weight, whooshing out a breath. 

“You done sulking yet?” he asks, and to everyone else it might sound casual, if a bit flippant. But Jason catches the nervous edge to it, the worry. “Listen, if this is about the move, you don't have to stay here. You can go back to Gotham.” 

Jason takes a step back, away from him, and cocks an eyebrow. “Do you honestly think I'd pick that stinking hellhole of a city over you?” 

Dick lets out another measured breath, and yeah, Jason's pretty positive those don't have anything to do with exertion. “Okay, then can you please just tell me what's wrong all of a sudden? Because I'm at a loss here.” 

“I found the ring,” Jason says, the words coming out a bit too fast, rushed. They're burning on his tongue anyway. He closes his eyes even though he won't be able to see much of Dick's expression. He doesn't know whether to demand that Dick take off that stupid mask, or be glad that it's there. 

The penny takes a moment to drop. Dick's face scrunches up in confusion. “Which ring – oh.” 

He blanches somewhat, and shifts his weight. It'd almost be cute, if it weren't for the context and the ball of irrational hurt and anger that still roils in Jason's stomach like a cancer. 

“Yeah,” he confirms, tone scathing, almost a snarl. “That ring.” 

“I'm not – “ Dick starts, but Jason spontaneously decides he doesn't want to hear it yet. Not here. Not right now. Not like this, out on the street in the darker, more rundown parts of the Haven, coming from _Nightwing_ rather than Dick Grayson, the guy who leaves his super-secret vigilante costume in a heap near the bed more nights than not and doesn't know the difference between cooking and parboiling. 

He leans forward and steals Dick's zip gun, which is only possible because Dick's lost all awareness over Jason intruding on his personal space in the last couple of years, and propels himself to the nearest roof, throwing the gun back down and breaking into a run. 

Dick doesn't follow him. 

 

*** 

 

The sun is already rising over the silhouette of their new city by the time Jason managed to calm down enough to realize that he'd rather walk home to a potential fight than do a replay of his preteen years and find himself a quiet corner just so he can curl up for an hour or two with one eye open. 

Dick stares at him with wide eyes when he lets himself in, stuffs his keys back into his pocket and strips off his jacket, hangs it up on the coat rack by the door. 

“You're back,” Dick observes, frozen in place where he's bent over another box to unpack, sounding like he doesn't quite believe what he's seeing is real. 

“Yeah,” Jason says, toeing off his shoes. “You know what they say about stray dogs, always coming back to where there's food and a warm bed.” 

He doesn't give Dick any space for a reply. He turns and heads for aforementioned warm bed, drawing the bedroom door closed behind himself with a bang. 

 

*** 

 

Dick intercepts him when he pads out into the living room hours later, fully intent on catching a shower and then heading straight back out. They play a ridiculous little game of side-stepping each other, until Jason huffs, hands balled into fists by his side, and gives in. 

“What?” he demands, not quite in the mood to be more articulate. 

“Can we take a walk?” Dick asks, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “Together? I promise it won't take long, and if you want to continue stewing own your own after that, well, there's not much I can do about it, I guess.” 

Jason shoots him a glare that feels stuck somewhere between bewilderment and mocking, but he shrugs his shoulders and gives him a half-nod. “Fine. Whatever.” 

They get dressed in awkward silence and keep a certain distance as Dick leads him through streets illuminated by shopfronts and street light in the beginning twilight. Close enough that they can feel each other's presence hovering just next to their own; too far away to touch, even by accident. 

Their walk isn't a long one. After roughly ten minutes, Dick stops, sitting down on a bench by the river. He pats the seat next to him, looks up at Jason with enough stupid, aching hope in his gaze that Jason finds himself physically unable to turn him down. He plops down and lounges with his arms strewn out over the back, purposefully rude. 

Dick's chest heaves with a deep, shuddering breath, and then he reaches into his pocket and produces an all too familiar small black box. Before Jason can scramble together the words to ask what the _fuck_ he thinks he's doing, he plucks the ring from it's nest between black velvet and throws it into the water. 

Jason starts at him, speechless, for a few seconds. Something in him uncurls, in slow motion and with a snap all at once, and suddenly he finds himself laughing, full-body, head thrown back, hard enough that tears begin prickling at the corner of his eyes. He wipes them away with the back of his hand. 

“Look, I appreciate the grand gesture, but that was really dumb,” he says, somewhat breathless.

The way Dick's face contorts in response to that is a sight to behold. “Uh, why?” 

“Well, for one, the thing looked expensive,” Jason says. “You should have, like, pawned it.” 

“Practical,” Dick allows, although his expression still signals that he may be a tad worried about the current state of Jason's mental health. 

Jason's face, in return, softens. He scratches a phantom itch off his jaw and inhales, grounding himself, trying to appear a little less, well, out of his mind. Because what he's going to say next is important; it shouldn't be lost in posturing or banter, jokes or squabbling. And they probably should have talked about it a long time ago. 

“I don't want you to promise me forever,” he says. “That's never been the point. Maybe this is temporary, and you'll go back to her. Give it fifteen years, and maybe you'll have some half-alien rugrats running around. Or maybe we'll both be dead in two weeks.” 

Dick grimaces at that, and Jason resists quipping about whether it's the prospect of an early grave or the mention of kids that does it. When they both stay quiet, he gives a small nod for Jason to continue. 

And here's the thing: few people have him down for it, but between the two of them, Jason's actually the well-spoken one, the one who can wrap his feelings into easily accessible words, while Dick's more about the show-don't-tell. That stems from being a teenager who always had his head stuck in a book, equal parts delighted that he could, then, and wanting to make the most of the chance he'd been given when Bruce not only made him Robin but also paid for an expensive scholarly education during the day. The skill may have gone rusty, unused; doesn't mean it's gone. 

“I want you to _want_ forever.” He looks Dick dead in the eye when he says it, tracking every minute reaction, every emotion flickering across his face. “Right now, and tomorrow, and the day after. I want you to be sure that you want this, and only this, for as long as we'll be together.” 

“What if I do, though?” Dick asks, blinking at him. “What if I want to promise you more than that?” 

All Jason does is shake his head. Not because he's out of pretty words; he could go on awhile. What mutes him is the feeling that's growing in his chest, too large for him to handle sometimes. It occurs to him that he doesn't even doubt Dick would promise much more, or that Dick wants more. Believing him, however, needs to be done in smaller increments or it won't process properly, wouldn't stick. 

They both stare out at the river for a few minutes, the water dark-blue in the waning light, seeming deep and endless and mysterious, like it could swallow them whole. Then Jason reaches out for Dick's hand, rubbing his thumb over the mark that means Dick was never meant to be his and they'll have to fight just a little bit harder to keep what they have than anyone else. But that's okay. They've both learned how to fight for what they want, tooth and nail, and protect it from anyone who might wish them harm. 

Dick audibly sighs in relief, and Jason turns his head to him, grinning. “Are we done here? Is the moment over? Can we go home now and christen your apartment?” 

And Dick, all man of action, doesn't reply; he hauls Jason towards him instead, one arm wrapped around his neck, and kisses him, deep and eager and filthy enough that it serves as a clear answer for all three questions.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://lostemotion.tumblr.com).


End file.
